Part 4
Right. (_Going, stops._) I can’t help it—I’ve got to tell you. Your whole conduct—about father, and—altogether—it’s something to admire. With my cursed prejudices—I too—downright accused you. One—devil take it! It’s a long time since I’ve had such a desire to spit at myself. You’re glad to hear that, eh? Well, perhaps you’ll do me the favour to—if I—I’ve certainly done my level best to vex you since you’ve been home, so—I’m sorry for it—there!
WILLIAM.
Brother!
[_They shake hands warmly._
ROBERT (_takes his hand quietly out of William’s, brings out his pipe, lights it and puffs smoke, then says as if to himself_).
Acrobatic soul! (_Puff, puff._) Well, well! (_He turns to go; before opening the door R. he speaks over his shoulder to William._) I’ll send her out to you.
WILLIAM.
Ah, never mind!—Well, if you really—
[_Robert nods and disappears through the doorway. William draws a deep breath, deep joy at what has happened possesses him._
IDA (_comes from the adjoining room, flies into his arms_.)
Willy!!!
WILLIAM.
Now—you—you two golden hearts have set me free. A new life! You can’t think how that inspires me. I seem quite great in my own eyes!—Ah, Ida, I can only now realise—how frightfully that weighed upon me, and now I feel such strength—such strength, Ida! You may rely on me, I will show him what the “good-for-nothing” can do. I’ll give father proofs. I will show him there is something in me: strength, living power as an artist, before which all shall bow—the stiffest necks shall bend—I feel it! Only that has crippled me. Now my fingers are twitching! I could compose, create—
IDA.
Ah you see! Now it’s all right! Now I have your own old self again—Dearest, I could sob—I could—shout for joy. Wasn’t I right? Nothing was dead in you, it only slept. It will all wake anew, as I always told you. It _has_ awaked—
[_She embraces and kisses him. Still embracing they pace the room in silent happiness._
WILLIAM (_stopping, and looking with happy bewilderment first into her eyes, then round the room_).
In these cold dreary walls—what joy—like blooming spring!
[_They kiss each other, closely entwined in silent happiness. They continue walking._
IDA (_sings softly to the same tune as her song in Act I. roguishly_).
Now you see how right I was.
[_Mrs Scholz comes a step into the room, sees the lovers and is going quickly out._
IDA (_noticing her, breaks off her song, and runs up to her_).
You’re not to run away, little mother-in-law!
MRS SCHOLZ.
Ah, why not! You don’t need me. (_William embraces and kisses his mother and helps to pull her into the room._) (_Crossly_) You are so awkward! You are—you are pulling me to pieces.
WILLIAM.
Oh, mother! what does that matter to-day—Mother! You see quite another man before you! (_Between his mother and Ida, holding a hand of each._) Come, little old mother, look at one another in the eyes, give each other your hands.
MRS SCHOLZ.
Silly fellow!
WILLIAM.
Kiss each other!
MRS SCHOLZ (_after wiping her mouth with her apron_).
There, stupid boy, if nothing else will do.—You needn’t use force to us.—There, Ida!
[_They kiss each other laughing._
WILLIAM.
And now—peace!
MRS SCHOLZ.
_Unberufen_, my boy!
[_Friebe comes out of the kitchen carrying a steaming punch-bowl, goes towards the next room._
WILLIAM.
Oho! What have we here? Is it good, Friebe?
FRIEBE (_crossing room_).
Ay, if you was to set thirty such like in front of me, not a gulp would I let down my throat.
WILLIAM.
Really not, Friebe?
FRIEBE.
There was a time—ay, yes—but now I’ve sworn off, ages ago. Now I drink only—mostly bitters.
[_Goes out._
IDA (_who has been tying William’s necktie and pulling his coat straight_).
There! now—
WILLIAM.
Thank you, darling.—Is father in good spirits?
MRS SCHOLZ.
He’s telling his tales. Often one can’t understand a word.
WILLIAM.
My heart is beginning to beat again.
MRS SCHOLZ.
If only Robert would not drink so much!
WILLIAM.
Ah, mother, to-day!—to-day nothing matters! To-day—
IDA.
Now come along quickly, before you—
WILLIAM (to _Mrs Scholz_).
You’re coming too?
MRS SCHOLZ.
Only be off with you! Be off!
[_Ida and William go into the next room. Mrs Scholz stands thinking, draws her hand over her brow, and moved by a sudden idea, goes to the door of the adjoining room where she listens._
FRIEBE (_steps in through the same door. He is evidently excited_).
Missis!
MRS SCHOLZ.
What do you want?
FRIEBE (_whispering mysteriously_).
I’ve got a—surprise, Mrs Sch—olz—
MRS SCHOLZ (_shrinking back_).
You’ve been drinking! You—
FRIEBE.
I’ve been on the look out, all sorts of ways, and I’ve—got something to tell you.
MRS SCHOLZ.
Well? yes, yes! Only say quickly what you’ve got to say.
FRIEBE.
H’m, I only mean—
MRS SCHOLZ.
Well, speak then, Friebe.
FRIEBE.
I only mean—that’s not the way. In my position there are many things I mustn’t talk about. I only mean your husband—he can’t possibly keep it up much longer—
MRS SCHOLZ.
Oh Jesus! Jesus! Friebe! has he—has he—complained? then, O Jesus! is he ill?
FRIEBE.
Ah, as to that, what should I know?
MRS SCHOLZ.
But what has he complained of?
FRIEBE.
That—I wasn’t to—tell—
MRS SCHOLZ.
Is it true though? (_Friebe nods._) But he can’t have spoken of his death?
FRIEBE.
Ah, more than that,—he’s said pretty things!
MRS SCHOLZ.
Now for goodness sake do try and speak clearly. Drunken creature!
FRIEBE (_angry_).
Yes, I’m—neither the gardener nor the boot boy; and as to what may happen—I shouldn’t need—in every position what I want most—in my position, but no!—Now you have the whole thing clear!
[_He wheels round, goes off into the kitchen._
MRS SCHOLZ.
The man’s gone crazy.
[_Ida enters through door of the adjoining room, shuts it behind her; opening it a little again she calls into the room._
IDA.
Wait, good people. Quiet! No impatience!
WILLIAM (_pressing into the room_).
But I want to help.
IDA.
No one else, then.
[_Ida and William light Christmas Tree candles._
MRS SCHOLZ.
But, William, listen a minute.
WILLIAM (_busy_).
Directly, little mother.—Just ready.
[_The Christmas Tree, the candelabra and the chandelier are lighted. Ida removes a large table cover which has been thrown over presents on the table. William goes to his mother._
IDA (_calls through door R_).
Now!
[_Mrs Scholz, who is just going to speak to William, is interrupted by the entrance of Dr Scholz, who is followed by Augusta, Robert and Mrs Buchner. Dr Scholz, his face reddened with drinking._
DR SCHOLZ (_with affected astonishment_).
Ah! Ah!
MRS BUCHNER.
Fairylike!
[_Augusta smiles constrainedly; Robert goes about pipe in mouth at first embarrassed, then smiling more and more ironically. William notices this with great annoyance._
IDA (_draws William to the table where the presents lie_).
Don’t laugh at me, Willy.
[_Gives him his purse._
WILLIAM.
But—Ida—I begged you—
IDA.
I crocheted it once for father. The year before his death he used it often, and so I thought—
WILLIAM (_with increasing embarrassment under Robert’s eyes_).
Yes—yes.—Ever so many thanks, Ida!
ROBERT.
Things only want to be more practical.
MRS SCHOLZ (_who has been led to the table by Mrs Buchner_).
But what have you been doing! You cannot—I have nothing for you. (_Seeing a crocheted shawl._) No, no! Only think!—You crocheted that for me—an old woman like me? Well then, I do thank you, many, many times.
[_They kiss one another._
MRS BUCHNER.
Ah! I’m only too glad if it pleases you.
MRS SCHOLZ.
Beautiful—wonderful—lovely. The time and the trouble! I never!
IDA.
I’ve something for you too, Mr Robert, but you mustn’t laugh at me!
ROBERT (_getting scarlet_).
Ah! what now?
IDA.
I thought—your pipe—the next thing it will be burning your nose and so I’ve had pity on you, and yesterday I—(_Shows a new pipe which she has hitherto held behind her back and gives it to him._) Here is the masterpiece!
[_All amused._
ROBERT (_without taking the pipe_).
You’re joking, Miss Ida!
IDA.
Ah well!—But I’m in deadly earnest over the present!
ROBERT.
No, no, I can’t believe that.
MRS SCHOLZ (_aside to William_).
Robert is unbearable!
IDA.
Ah, but no—really—
ROBERT.
You see, this thing here—I’ve got used to it—and of course you don’t really mean it!
IDA (_her eyes full of tears, conquering her hurt feelings; with trembling voice_).
Well, then, if you’d rather—
[_Puts the present back on the table._
MRS BUCHNER (_who during the foregoing has several times spoken to Ida, now hurries to her_).
Ida, darling, have you forgotten?
IDA.
What, mamma?
MRS BUCHNER.
You know! (_To the others_) You’re all going to hear something.
[_Ida, glad to hide her emotion in this way, goes hand in hand with her mother into the next room._
MRS SCHOLZ (_to Robert_).
Why did you spoil her pleasure for her?
WILLIAM (_twisting the ends of his moustache nervously; walks up and down casting threatening glances at Robert_).
ROBERT.
What now? How do you mean? I don’t know what you want.
AUGUSTA.
Well, it certainly wasn’t exactly friendly.
ROBERT.
Do leave me alone. Besides, what should I do with it?
[_Song and piano accompaniment from next room interrupt speakers. All look at one another, startled._
IDA’S VOICE.
Oh, come little children, Oh, come one and all, Come here to the manger In Bethlehem’s stall. Behold all the gladness This wonderful night, Our Father in Heaven Has wrought in his might.
[_Dr Scholz, noticing Robert’s behaviour, has grown steadily gloomier. At the beginning of the song he looks nervously round like someone who dreads being attacked and seeks as far as possible without being noticed to establish a certain distance between himself and the others._
MRS SCHOLZ (_at the beginning of the song_).
Ah! how beautiful!
[_She listens for a moment with devotion, then breaks into sobs. Robert moves slowly about; as the song continues makes a grimace, as if to say, “Well, this is the last straw”; walks further on, smiles ironically and several times shakes his head. Passing Augusta, he says something to her half audibly. Augusta, partly touched by the song, now breaks out. William has been standing by the table, nervously drumming with his fingers, a prey to conflicting emotions; now his face reddens with resentment. Robert towards the end of the song appears to suffer physically. The impossibility of escaping from the impression of Ida’s tones appears to torture and embitter him more and more. Just at the end of the verse, a word escapes him involuntarily like the fragment of a soliloquy._
ROBERT.
Child’s play! (_in a biting contemptuous tone_).
[_All, including the Doctor, have heard him, and turn to him with a shocked expression._
MRS SCHOLZ and AUGUSTA.
Robert!
[_Dr Scholz suppresses an explosion of violent anger. William, white with rage, steps up to Robert._
MRS SCHOLZ (_rushing towards him, embraces him_).
William—for my sake!
WILLIAM.
All right, mother!
[_He goes up and down controlling himself with difficulty. At this moment the second verse begins; scarcely are the first tones heard when with sudden resolution he goes to the door of the adjoining room._
IDA.
There lies he, oh children, On hay and on straw, And Joseph and Mary Look on him with awe. The honest souled shepherds Kneel praying for love; The choir of the angels Sweeps singing above.
MRS SCHOLZ (_standing in his way_).
William, what are you going to do?
WILLIAM (_breaking out_).
She sha’n’t sing any more.
AUGUSTA.
You must be out of your mind!
WILLIAM.
Let me alone. I say she shall stop.
MRS SCHOLZ.
Ah, but do—you really are—Well then, you won’t see me any more this evening.
ROBERT.
Stop, mother, let him see to it. It’s his affair.
WILLIAM.
Robert, don’t you go too far. Take my advice; you’ve already made one touching scene; it only leaves you more unbearable.
ROBERT.
Quite true; made a touching scene! That’s just what I should call it.
[_William goes again towards the side room._
MRS SCHOLZ (_again restraining him_).
Oh God-oh-God-oh-God! My boy, why must you stop her?
[_The second verse comes to an end._
WILLIAM.
Because you’re none of you worthy of it, not one of you!
ROBERT (_stepping close to William with an insolently expressive look in his eyes_).
You are, I suppose?
MRS SCHOLZ.
Oh Lord! you’re beginning again!
[_The third verse begins._
The children are bringing With joy and good cheer, Milk, butter and honey To Bethlehem here; A basket of apples All yellow and red, A snowy white lambkin With flower-crowned head.
WILLIAM.
She _shall_ stop!
MRS SCHOLZ (_once more restraining him_).
My boy!!!
WILLIAM.
Simply beneath contempt! It is blasphemy! It is a crime against these people if we—I—yes, on my honour, I’m ashamed of you all.
AUGUSTA (_piqued_).
No, after all we are not so very specially bad and contemptible.
WILLIAM.
Aug—it makes me sick.
AUGUSTA.
Well, let it!—Yes, yes, of course _I’m_ to be shoved into the background; you must always find fault with your sister. Whatever _she_ does is wrong. It’s not a bit fair. But your Miss Ida—
WILLIAM (_beside himself, interrupting_).
Don’t dare to speak her name!!
AUGUSTA.
The idea! I shall talk about Ida if—
WILLIAM.
Leave her name out of it, I tell you.
AUGUSTA.
You’ve gone mad, I think. I _shall_—after all she’s not an angel from heaven.
WILLIAM (_screaming at her_).
Silence, I say!
AUGUSTA (_turning her back_).
Pah! you’re just in love!
WILLIAM (_seizing her roughly by the shoulder_).
You creature! I—
ROBERT (_seizing William’s arm, speaks slowly, emphasising each word_).
Perhaps, William, you intend again—?
WILLIAM.
Devil!
AUGUSTA.
_You_ say that—_you_, who lifted your hand against your own father!
DR SCHOLZ (_his voice trembling with rage, in a tone of absolute command_).
Augusta!—leave the room—this instant!!!
AUGUSTA.
Well!—I should like to know—
DR SCHOLZ.
Leave the room this minute.
MRS SCHOLZ.
Oh, dear God, why can’t I die? Augusta, do you hear? (_crying_) Obey your father!
ROBERT.
H’m—mother I should blame her if she did. She’s not a little child any longer. Times have changed a bit, God knows.
DR SCHOLZ.
But I—_I_ have not changed. I am the master in this house—I’ll prove it to you.
ROBERT.
Ridiculous!
DR SCHOLZ (_screaming_).
Scoundrels!—Wretches!—I disinherit you—I’ll throw you on the streets.
ROBERT.
That’s downright funny.
DR SCHOLZ (_masters a frightful outburst of rage and speaks with ominous quietness and firmness_).
You or I—one of us leaves this house this moment.
ROBERT.
I, of course, with the greatest of pleasure.
MRS SCHOLZ (_half commanding, half entreating_).
Robert—stay!
DR SCHOLZ.
He shall go.
MRS SCHOLZ.
Fritz, listen to me. He is the only one—all these long lonely years, who didn’t forget us. He—
DR SCHOLZ.
He or I!—
MRS SCHOLZ.
Ah, give way, Fritz—for my sake!
DR SCHOLZ.
Leave me alone—_He or I!_
MRS SCHOLZ.
Ah, I won’t ask you to meet each other—it can be arranged quite easily—but—
DR SCHOLZ.
Very well, I give way—I give way to you and your brood. You and your brood—from to-day you have won the victory!
WILLIAM.
Stay, dear father—or if you go, let me go with you this time.
DR SCHOLZ (_involuntarily stepping back between anger and terror_).
Leave me alone! Good-for-nothing! (_fumbling among his things_) Scoundrels and loafers!—Good-for-nothings!
WILLIAM (_boiling over_).
Father, you call us that—when it’s your doing that—Ah, Father dear, no, no, I will say nothing. Let me go with you. I will stay with you. Let me atone for all that I—(_Laying his hand on his father’s arm._)
DR SCHOLZ (_as though paralysed with fright and horror, draws back_).
Let go! I tell you—The army of the oppressors shall insuredly—shall assuredly be brought to shame! Are they these people—these mighty ones and these mighty ones—are they men? A man like me, who has his faults, but still for all that is through and through—and up and down—and short and sweet.
WILLIAM.
Father! father! dear father, come to yourself. Be your own self.
DR SCHOLZ (_swaying with the rhythm of the words, half aloud_).
And short and sweet—and through and through—
WILLIAM (_embracing him, instinctively seeking to control his gestures_).
Control yourself, pull yourself together!
DR SCHOLZ (_defending himself; imploring like a little child_).
Ah! don’t beat me! Don’t punish me!
WILLIAM.
But for God’s sake—
DR SCHOLZ.
Don’t beat me!—don’t beat me—again!
[_He makes cramped efforts to free himself from William’s arms._
WILLIAM.
May my hand perish!—Father dear, don’t think such a thing—dear father, don’t dream it—
[_Dr Scholz frees himself, flies from William calling for help._
WILLIAM.
Father, you strike _me_, you beat _me_!
DR SCHOLZ.
Please! please, please help me.
[_Ida appears at the door of the room, deathly white._
WILLIAM (_rushes to his father, puts his arms round him again_).
Strike _me_!
DR SCHOLZ (_sinking on a chair with William’s arms still round him_).
I—ah—ah—a—ah! I think—it’s—all over—with me.
WILLIAM.
Father!
[_Mrs Scholz and Augusta seize one another in terror. Robert, deathly white, has not moved. His face has an expression of unshakable determination._
ACT III
Twilight. All lights are extinguished except a few on the chandelier, and one on the Christmas tree. In front, near the stove, William sits at the table, his back towards the adjoining room, sunk in dreary hopeless meditation. Robert and Mrs Scholz enter together from next room.
MRS SCHOLZ (_looking worn out, in lowered tones_).
No, my boy, don’t tell me! Now there’s no knowing what next. As soon as trouble comes—Then, ah well!
ROBERT.
You’re not alone now, mother.
MRS SCHOLZ.
Ah, just listen to you! You know better. It’s too absurd. Where can you be off to in the middle of the night!
ROBERT.
Oh, there are always trains and I _must_ go. I really can’t stand it any longer; besides, it’s best for all of us!
MRS SCHOLZ (_whimpering_).
These last years it has always been pleasant. And now they’ve come back!—Since those Buchners came, everything’s turned upside down.
ROBERT.
Be glad that you have them, mother.
MRS SCHOLZ.
Oh, I could have managed quite well by myself.
ROBERT.
Father seems able to bear none of us about him—?
MRS SCHOLZ (_crying_).
Just as if I had done him any harm! Surely I have always been the same—I have always done my best—Do be just, Robert!—I have cooked him his hot dinners, he’s had his warm stockings—
ROBERT.
Ah, leave it alone, mother! What good is this everlasting lamentation?
MRS SCHOLZ.
Yes, that’s what you say. It’s all very well for you! But if you have worried yourself sick all your life—if one has beaten one’s brain to know:—Have I done _this_ right? have I done _that_ right?—and then strange people come, and one sees them preferred!
ROBERT.
Ida is with him still?
MRS SCHOLZ.
A perfect stranger!—Ah, I might as well be dead—and that lump!—that Friebe!—Creature!—The airs he gives himself!—But Gussie’s let him have it!—Gussie talked to him pretty straight! The fellow’s as impudent—he wanted to push her out of the room. The girl was beside herself!—His own daughter! No—You children! What my life has been!—I wouldn’t wish a dog to lead it.
ROBERT _(with a little sigh, involuntarily_).
Father too!
MRS SCHOLZ.
What?
ROBERT.
Oh, nothing. I only said, father too.
MRS SCHOLZ.
What about him?
ROBERT.
Well, father too has had a good deal to bear.
MRS SCHOLZ.
Well not from me, anyhow. I haven’t troubled him much. I’ve made no very great claims.
ROBERT (_sceptically_).
Hja—tja—tja!
MRS SCHOLZ.
Just wait till I’m in my grave, then he’ll begin to see—
ROBERT.
Ah, leave it alone, mother! I’ve heard that hundreds of times.
MRS SCHOLZ.
Maybe! You’ll see too, and before very long either.
ROBERT.
Ah, mother, I don’t deny that you’ve had a lot to bear with through father. You’ve both suffered. But I don’t see why you—
MRS SCHOLZ.
Stuff and nonsense. I should like to know what has _he_ ever wanted for?
ROBERT (_incautiously_).
To be understood, if you will insist on knowing.
MRS SCHOLZ.
I can’t make myself cleverer than I am.
ROBERT.
Nobody asked you to try. Besides—it’s the merest folly to talk of it so much.
MRS SCHOLZ.
Now there’s an end of everything—(_Crying._) After all, it’s not my doing that he lies there ill, and—
ROBERT.
I never said it was.
MRS SCHOLZ.
You did. That’s what you _did_ say.
ROBERT.
Ah, mother—I’d better go. I—mother, I really can’t stand any more.
MRS SCHOLZ.
No! I should just like to know what I have to reproach myself with. I have a good conscience.
ROBERT.
Then keep it, in God’s name keep it! (_With a movement of self-defence_) Only, _leave off_.
MRS SCHOLZ.
You mean that money business, I suppose?
ROBERT.
I mean nothing.
MRS SCHOLZ.
My parents earned it hardly enough, no woman would have put up with it! Your father just pitched it out of window.
ROBERT.
But your uncle lied to you about it.
MRS SCHOLZ.
You can’t be sure of that.
ROBERT.
And father earned the whole over again.
MRS SCHOLZ.
He might as well have gambled with it.
[_Robert laughs bitterly._
MRS SCHOLZ.
I’m only a poor ignorant woman. Your father was always above me. His mother was quite a lady too. But my father was once as poor as a rat. I’ll never get the chill of poverty out of my blood! I can’t alter myself. Well, it’s all the same!—for the year or two of life that’s left me!—The Lord will deliver me in his own good time.
ROBERT.
I would rather be delivered _from_ the Lord.
MRS SCHOLZ.
For shame! What a scoundrelly speech! Delivered from the Lord.—I might as well take a dagger and stab myself here in the heart—Frightful!—Delivered from the Lord!—Where should I have been if it had not been for the Lord?—Are you really going away, Robert?
ROBERT (_already on the stairs_).
Oh, be quiet, mother! It’s peace I want, peace!—
[_Goes up the stairs._
MRS SCHOLZ.
Oh dear, dear—yes—amongst you all, it isn’t an easy life! (_To William who has remained the whole time at the table without paying attention to them_) Just think!—You!—Robert’s going!
WILLIAM.
All the same to me!
MRS SCHOLZ.
What are you sitting there for?—That’s no use. Do be sensible.
WILLIAM (_sighing_).
Ah, yes!
MRS SCHOLZ.
And sighing’s no use! Look at me, at my age—and if I were to squat myself down like you!—What’s done is done! There’s no changing it now. Look here! Read something! Get up, take a book and amuse yourself!
WILLIAM (_sighing_).
Oh mother, do let me alone—I’m troubling nobody!—Has Friebe come back from the Doctor’s?
MRS SCHOLZ.
No, that he hasn’t. It’s what I always say, as sure as one wants a doctor, there isn’t one to be found.
WILLIAM.
It is serious, isn’t it, especially if—_that_ were to happen again?
MRS SCHOLZ.
Ah God! Who knows!
[_William stares at his mother, then with sudden passionate sobs lets his head fall in his hands._
Yes, yes, my boy, who would have thought it! I’m not saying—I blame no one, but just to-day you surely might have kept from quarrelling.—However, we must just hope for the best.—At least his mind’s not wandering any more. If Ida only doesn’t overlook anything! Any one of us would have a hundred times more experience. Why he should have taken so to Ida!—I don’t bite!—Though I will say in other ways—Ida—she’s really a good girl—and you of all people! (_patting him on his shoulders_) You may thank the Lord! You might wait long enough before you’d find another one like Ida! (_Cautiously, confidentially_) Tell me,—are the Buchners well off?
WILLIAM (_roused_).
Oh leave me alone! How should I know!—What do I care!
MRS SCHOLZ.
What now!—I suppose I’ve a right to ask!—You’re a perfect bear!
WILLIAM.
Ah mother, let me alone.—If you have a spark of pity for me, let me alone.—Don’t trouble about me, let me alone.
MRS SCHOLZ.